


save me if i become my demons

by trophygoth



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Ignis Verse 2, Episode Prompto Spoilers, Everybody Loves Prompto, F/M, M/M, Mentions of Drowning, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Canon, all lowercase because i hate capitalism, prompto has a nightmare and everyone comforts him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 16:33:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18347477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trophygoth/pseuds/trophygoth
Summary: as soon as he has the thought, all at once, the army (can they be called that?) in unison turns to him, brilliant blue eyes sparkling with malice and a sick, twisted grin on each of their faces. as a unit, they raise their arms, twist their hands, and an all-too-familiar gun sparkles into existence. aimed directly at him. he tries to shout a plea, wants to tell them that he’s the same, that he’s like them.





	save me if i become my demons

**Author's Note:**

> this was written between the hours of midnight and five thirty am so.........yeah. anyworms, cw for drowning and slight? body horror i guess?

he’s falling. he doesn’t know how long he’s been falling, or when he’ll stop falling, but it feels simultaneously like eons and seconds. all at once, he realizes he’s not actually falling -- he’s  _ drowning _ ; his arms flail around, trying to find a life raft, or something to grab hold of,  _ anything _ that would let him propel himself upward. if he can even figure out what direction is up, what direction will lead him out of the endless sea of thick, foul-tasting liquid that threatens to fill his lungs. after a few minutes (or hours, or seconds) his hand thuds against something hard and smooth. cold. he swims toward it and up, hoping to find a way out of the tank --  _ oh _ . he blinks viscous fluid out of his eyes as he tries to push the glass out, tries to shatter it. sees figures on the other side -- figures he recognizes, figures he’d recognize anywhere. 

tall and broad, oversized sword cleaving through MTs like a hot knife through, well, an MT. long and lean, darting in between enemies, fiery daggers leaving scorched bodies in their wake. slender and beautiful, alternating between too many weapons to count, dropping MTs like flies. no, wait, not MTs. promptos. where there should be machinery, where there should be sparks and armor, there’s blond hair, freckled skin, and piercing blue eyes. iggy and noct flip through the air, landing devastating hits on an unsuspecting prompto. noct jumps on gladio’s shoulders to bring his sword down and shatters the skull of a prompto who -- who isn’t fighting back. none of them are -- they’re all standing in line, waiting for their turn at death. a fist bangs against the glass, mouth opening in a silent, bubbling scream. he needs to tell them -- needs to point out that the promptos aren’t trying to kill them, that they don’t even have weapons. 

as soon as he has the thought, all at once, the army (can they be called that?) in unison turns to him, brilliant blue eyes sparkling with malice and a sick, twisted grin on each of their faces. as a unit, they raise their arms, twist their hands, and an all-too-familiar gun sparkles into existence. aimed directly at  _ him _ . he tries to shout a plea, wants to tell them that he’s the same, that he’s like them.

because he is. he’s just like them -- a twisted mockery of a human, a clone of horrific, horrible origins.

he kicks off the glass, trying to get away from the other promptos, but his back hits something solid. he’s no longer in an ocean of endless torment, he’s enclosed in a tank too small for comfort. he presses his shoulders against the back of the tank, kicks at the glass, trying desperately to shatter it to escape. but the fluid is too thick, too viscous, to move quickly enough to break anything.

the other promptos tilt their heads to the side, and he notices with a horrifying pang in his gut that his friends have turned to look as well. and they don’t look like they’re going to help -- far from it. ignis’ face looks like it did the first night they rented chocobos, when prompto came home after riding in the rain, drenched and smelling like wet bird. gladio looks disinterested, as if prompto is nothing more than a bug, a pest, something that would just get in their way.

and noct. 

he’d hoped that noct, at least, would see the terror in his eyes, that his best friend of more years than he’d like to count would realize that he’s the  _ real  _ prompto, that he would try to get him out of the tank, would stop the army from trying to kill him. but no. no -- although there’s pity in his eyes, it’s more akin to the look you’d give a suffering animal just before putting it out of its misery. 

and that, more than anything else, causes prompto to give up. he curls in on himself as best he can manage in the too-small tank, and lets out a wail of despair. his eyes close just as the clones (the other clones, not the him-clone) gently squeeze the triggers of their guns.

he wakes with a start, trying to sit up and blink the dream out of his eyes, but he can’t -- there’s something warm and heavy across his chest, holding him tightly, tighter than he could ever possibly break through.

so he screams.

gladio sits bolt upright, pulls his arm off prompto’s chest, and finally,  _ finally _ , he can breathe. he sits up, trying to get his bearings -- it takes him a moment to realize they’re in the guest room at cape caem. the room he keeps ready for whenever gladio comes to visit. 

blue eyes burning with unshed tears turn to the man in bed beside him, and gladio gently puts a hand on his shoulder. (with more care than he shows in any other aspect of his life, as if he’s afraid prompto will break under his touch.) (and he does. he shatters.)

with a sob, he throws himself against the broad chest next to him, arms wrapping around gladio’s neck, and buries his face in his shoulder. one arm comes to pull him closer, hand gently resting on the back of his head, while the other reaches for the nightstand on his side of the bed. 

prompto barely notices the dim light fill the room as gladio turns his phone screen on, swiping through the screens to send a text to the emergency group chat, the one only used in dire circumstances, when a message has to get through regardless of do not disturb status.

he doesn’t know how long he’s crying into gladio’s shoulder before the door cracks open and light from the hallway creeps into the room. doesn’t register the bed shift as ignis, noct, and luna gently make their way from the edge of the mattress to the center of the bed where the two men sit, entangled in each other’s arms. 

but the hands gently touching his back, his shoulder, his waist -- those, he feels. his sobs pause as he lifts his face from the crook of gladio’s neck to look at his partners, and the concern, the  _ love _ he sees there causes him to break down again. he buries his face again (and surely gladio is sick of the tears pooling in his collarbones) and he feels pressure at his back. pressure like three bodies pressed against him, and he  _ panics _ . he acts instinctively, not stopping to think that they’re simply hugging him. he pushes back, hands shoving against gladio’s chest, feet scrabbling to get away, to just get away and not be suffocated or surrounded or  _ trapped _ . he hurls himself to the edge of the bed, falling off, landing square on his back with a painful  _ thud _ . four faces lean over, concern etched into every single one of them. 

“sorry,” he manages through the panic clawing at his chest. “sorry, i just -- it was too -- i couldn’t breathe.”

ignis nods in understanding and goes to push his glasses up his nose -- the glasses that he seems to have left on his nightstand. he looks faintly embarrassed, for a moment, to have forgotten he’d rushed out of bed without them, but the worry overtakes that. “it’s quite alright, prompto.” his words are soft, cautious. “none of us are hurt by it -- merely concerned.”

“i just --” he cuts off, not sure how to word his panic in a way they’ll understand. 

they all know, of course. but knowing of his nightmares is an entirely different beast than understanding the cloying panic coursing through his body. (not that they don’t all have their own nightmares, their own panic attacks and traumatic memories to deal with in the middle of the night. they do.)

“was it the dream again?” luna’s voice rings through the room, gentle as the dew that collects on the grass before sunrise. he simply nods, not trusting himself to speak without starting to cry again.

“hey, it’ll be alright, blondie. we’ve been through tougher stuff than that and we’re still here, right?” prompto’s eyes focus past the darkness, following gladio’s gravelly voice until they meet each other’s gaze. he looks like he’d probably still be snoring had prompto not screamed.

guilt pools in his chest, and he looks away. “sorry i uh, sorry i woke you. i know you’re supposed to like, leave early in the morning.”

he hears the bed shift as gladio shakes his head, and continues before his boyfriend has a chance to reply. “and sorry you guys are up now, you can like, go back to sleep. think i’m gonna just… stay up for a bit.” an awkward giggle, sounding a bit choked at the end.

nobody moves. he chances a look up at the bed ( _ why _ is he still on the floor? he’ll have to ask ignis later to see about getting good carpeting in the bedrooms during their renovations) to see four incredulous faces.

“are you kidding?” ah. noct’s found his voice, however groggy it may be, and he sounds less than impressed. “we love you, prom. of course we’re gonna stay up with you. don’t be stupid.”

another laugh, manic this time, makes its way from his throat. “can’t really help that, buddy.”

ignis frowns, and he doesn’t even need to speak for prompto to know exactly what he’s thinking. none of them particularly like when he’s self-deprecating, but ignis especially seems to have a distaste for it.

luna leans into noct’s shoulder, and judging by his sleepy nod, seems to relay something with her touch that goes utterly missed by prompto.

“look,” he says, and he’d almost sound like a king if he wasn’t in sweatpants and a holey sleep shirt. (how hasn’t ignis thrown it out yet? it’s gotta be super old, from before the stuff with ardyn.) (he almost laughs at his thoughts labelling some of the worst times in his life as “stuff” but manages to curb it. he doesn’t want to have to explain.) “why don’t we all pile into the big bed -- you can be anywhere you want, you don’t have to be in the middle -- and we can put something on the tv. like a sleepover. you won’t even have to talk about it if you don’t wanna.”

prompto doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep again, doesn’t want to take the chance that the nightmare will pick up right where it left off, so having the tv on sounds good, and he definitely doesn’t wanna talk about it… but he also doesn’t want to keep the others up all night. he starts to shake his head, starts to say he’ll be fine, he’s just gonna stay here with gladio before he’s off to see iris in lestallum, when a chime (that sounds suspiciously like the theme from the cup noodles commercials) leads to gladio’s phone lighting up.

“that’s iris -- i texted her to say i’m gonna stay here another night.” he sounds more awake than before, and prompto almost squirms under the guilt of keeping him from his sister for another day. 

ignis clears his throat. “if i may,” he begins, not waiting for anyone to respond before continuing, “i believe that there’s a late-night program about chocobos that should be starting soon.”

noct stares at him. luna stares at him. gladio stares at him. ignis watches prompto, ignoring the others. prompto’s lip quivers. of course ignis would know when the chocobo documentary is on -- of course he’d pay attention to things like that.

“that… sounds good.” his voice is pitifully quiet. “i’m… really sorry to wake you guys.”

luna reaches forward, palm up and hand outstretched. “it’s perfectly okay, prompto.” he’s gotta learn how she does that thing with her voice; ten years in the darkness waiting for noct’s return and three more after he came back, and he still hasn’t figured out how she manages to make words sound like a balm. “noctis is right -- we love you, and we’re going to be here for you.”

prompto takes her hand, using her as an anchor to right himself. (they’re all, in their different, wonderful ways, his anchor.) his knees threaten to buckle, and his tailbone hurts like hell. he probably bruised it when he fell. he definitely has to talk to iggy about carpeting. but he makes it to the big room, the one he, ignis, noct, and luna share most nights, on his own feet. (not that gladio didn’t offer to carry him, princess-style.) (he’s definitely not a princess.)

he decides to settle between gladio and ignis, with noct and luna on iggy’s other side and prompto’s arm reaching over so he and luna are holding hands, forearm resting on noct’s chest. soon, the sound of a tenebrean man with a soothing voice quietly fills the room, explaining the life cycle of the chocobo.

at some point, he must have fallen back asleep, gently nestled in a tangle of limbs, his head on ignis’ shoulder. gladio’s hand heavy on his waist. noctis curled against iggy, fingers tangled in long blond hair. his own fingers intertwined with lunafreya’s. 

in the morning, there’s pancakes.

**Author's Note:**

> so basically the relationship dynamic is that prompto and gladio are together, prompto, ignis, and noct are together, and prompto, noct, and luna are together. this takes place in an au where ignis made it to the altar in time to stop ardyn from killing luna, but still went with him in order to stop noct's ultimate demise. cue v2, except when noct came back and ultimately put an end to ardyn and fixed the starscourge, he abdicated his throne since... the monarchy is how they got into this mess in the first place. luna/noct/ignis/prompto retire to cape caem and fix it up while gladio travels around still trying to fix things, frequently coming to caem to spend time with them and also his boyfriend. 
> 
> also, the narrator of the chocobo doc is definitely the eos-equivalent of david attenborough.


End file.
